


Room Raiders: Stydia Edition

by bansheequeen (queenbanshee), xtremeroswellian



Series: Definitely not the end. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, College Bound, F/M, Fear of College Rejection Letters, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Lydia is Perfect, Mentions of another fandom if you squint, Mentions of the nogitsune, Pack Feels, Post-Nogitsune, Stydia bickers like an old married couple, UST, allison is alive, non-canon compliant, stiles has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbanshee/pseuds/bansheequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia takes charge of the situation and raids Stiles' room to find his hidden college letters, and the two end up struggling to confront fears they're both facing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Shortly after Lydia says she's on her way over, Stiles takes the stairs two at a time and looks somewhat frantically around his room. She knows all of his hiding places even if she hasn't spent that much time at his house in the last few months. She still knows him well enough to know where he'd stash something he was trying to hide. He chews his thumbnail for a second and then decides that in plain sight seems like the best option to go with.

He tucks it into the catalog for UC Los Angeles that's laying on his desk and then stacks a couple other catalogs atop it and haphazardly tosses a pen on the very top and then sticks a Batman action figure beside it for the finishing touch. He glances around his room -- considerably neater than most teenage boys' rooms because when he gets anxious, he goes into organization mode, and his room is cleaner today than it has been in the last _year_.

Stiles feels his heart rate start to calm down just as he hears a knock from downstairs, signalling Lydia's arrival and jump starting his rapid heart beating again that quickly.

“Okay. This is not a big deal. Lydia's a friend. Friend Lydia. Just coming over for a friendly game of find the college rejection letter. No big deal.”

He winces when the bell rings and he heads down the steps and over to the front door, unlocking all three of the locks and then pulling it open.

“Heeey.”

Oh yeah. Definitely, one hundred percent hiding something. She knows that _hey_. She knows that anxiety he can barely contain. She knows Stiles.

... Maybe not as well as she'd like to think she does anymore. But they've been pretending and dancing around their issues long enough that she can just keep on pretending they're still as close as they once were. And that she knows him just as well.

Despite that familiar dull ache in her chest, she smirks up at him and brushes past him. Maybe _brushing_ a little more than she should.

Once she's in the foyer, she pauses and looks around for a moment, pursing her lips together before turning to face him again.

“ _So_. Do you prefer I lock you in a room to make sure you're not going to hide it somewhere else while I search, or is keeping you around with your hands where I can see them at all times gonna be enough.”

Okay maybe he hasn't exactly learned the fine art of subtlety the last few years. He probably never will. It's one of the things he's basically given up hope of achieving. He can be sly and he can be witty, but subtle he isn't.

He swallows hard when she brushes by him, her arm brushing against his chest as she moves past him and into the house. It's been awhile since he's seen her _here_. The last few months they'd spent a lot more time at school, or running around in his jeep trying to track down various supernatural baddies. There hasn't been a lot of downtime.

And there's been avoidance. Being alone together when they haven't been working on something has been a non-existent thing since long before Malia left town with her mom.

“Okay I vote for option three: you take my word on it and we split and go get something to eat? I'll even pay.”

“You're kidding, right? You're actually offering to buy me food and you expect me to take your word for it?”

And maybe there's something else that stings in there. Of course the time he offers to buy her dinner is to try and blackmail her. Because this is Stiles. And this is her. And apparently this is what they do. It's what _friends_ do, isn't it? Joke around and split the check and make no big deal out of things.

Yep. _Friends_. And if he wasn't actually one of her best friends she'd think the word with added bitterness. But as it is, she pushes it aside. Pushes it _all_ aside like she always does. Hopefully before he can catch that split second of actual annoyance on her face.

And then she storms up the stairs, announcing:

“I'll start with the obvious.”

He catches the look, the slight hint of bitterness in her tone and he has to look away because he knows that he's the cause of it and he doesn't known how to fix it. He's not even sure he can.

And then she's heading up the stairs. No. _Stomping_ up the stairs and he winces involuntarily before following her up the steps and into his room. He holds his breath, not daring to even look at his desk or the catalog where he hid the Stanford letter.

“Okay this is an unnecessary violation of privacy.” He holds his hands up, chewing his lower lip. “Seriously, there's absolutely no letter.”

Something in the room shifts at his words. Or maybe just in her mood, which definitely changes.

“Are you serious?” She asks, her tone flat as she turns to face him. Not a hint of anger in her voice. Maybe hurt, but not anger. Because while she knows Stiles could be just being dramatic right now, she also needs to make sure doing this isn't going to destroy something else between them.

“Because we both know you got a letter, Stiles. But if you don't want me going through your stuff, I won't.”

She is painfully aware that the place she has in his life now is different than it used to be. And it's very likely that there's a lot in his room he doesn't want her to see. Regardless of what she'd actually be looking for.

He groans and lets his head fall forward, mostly because he wants to make sure she knows he's being dramatic and not trying to kick her out or something.

“Go for it.”

He moves to lean against the wall by his closet, arching his eyebrows and glancing at the clock. He wonders exactly how fast she's going to find the letter. He's guessing it'll take her less than five minutes.

“Mi casa es su casa.”

She eyes him for a moment, and yes, she knows what his reaction means. It means he is just being an idiot and over dramatic. And it also means he's not going to acknowledge the fact that she just got very uncomfortable. And at least that part she really appreciates.

So it's back to pretending everything is fine and normal and stop with the stupid insecurities she can't seem to completely get rid of for whatever reason.

“ _Fine_.” Lydia smirks, then takes a deep breath and starts to look around the room, now focusing on actually finding the letter.

She makes her way over to his bedside table, but doesn't touch it. Then she slowly makes her way around the bed considering under it for a second but she doesn't wanna embarrass him so she won't even look. She knows what he keeps there.

Then she stops, staring at his board and at all the papers he has attached to it. He'd be too smart to use an actual hiding place, so plain sight seems like the obvious choice.

When she doesn't see anything specific on the board, she turns to look at the desk, cocking her head at the pile of things and suddenly, it's so painfully obvious.

So much that she turns to him and gives him a look.

“Really?” She's about 90% sure, and she didn't even touched anything yet.

He folds his arms across his chest as he watches her move around, wincing as she moves toward the bed. Even he has more class than to hide college letters in his stash of old porn mags or comic books. He's relieved that she doesn't make things super awkward by pulling out that box from under the bed.

He purses his lips when she moves to look at his board, which for once is relatively blank, just a couple of articles - cold cases he'd pulled from his dad's office that he thinks are supernatural related that he's trying to piece together -- and some red string. The words the Desert Wolf have been erased for the last month but they'd been there for so long that the print is still visible albeit very lightly.

And then she turns to look at his desk and he struggles to keep his expression neutral. But when she looks at him, his left eye twitches a little, involuntarily. Dammit.

“What? I don't see a letter anywhere, do you?”

“Not yet. But I know I will.”

She keeps her eyes on him for a moment long, that eye twitch being the very last proof she needed to make sure she's in the right direction.

Once she turns her focus back on the desk, she picks up the Batman and sets it back on it's usual place. That was mostly what gave it away. She knows where it belongs and the attempt to make it look so casual hurt him.

And then she removes the pen and starts going through the catalogs. She looks at the first one, then stops and just sets the other one aside and pulls the UCLA one from the bottom of the pile.

She immediately feels something inside of it and grins as she envelop slides right onto her hand. Without even looking at it, she looks at Stiles again and holds it up.

Well she's not wrong. He groans as soon as she picks up the action figure and puts it back where it usually sits.

Damn.

He's rubbing a hand over his neck when she picks up the first catalog and immediately sets it and the other one aside and goes straight for UCLA. Dammit, why hadn't he gone with Neptune University for his hiding place? Maybe she wouldn't have bothered.

But then she's holding the envelope in her hand and grinning at him victoriously. His gaze flickers to the clock. Two minutes.

“See now I'm just starting to think you're the world's only actually _psychic_ banshee.” He chews his lower lip, waiting for the moment she's going to notice where the rejection letter is _from_.

“Oh, I don't need to be psychic when you're _that_ sloppy."

Bragging right forever Stiles. She watches him for a moment, then grins softly as she lowers the envelope. It's actually kinda thick so she's feeling positive.

“Now c'mon, I have Allison's too and I told her to meet us up at Scott's so we can--” As she's talking, she finally turns the envelope over and looks down at it, her heart skipping a beat when she sees the crest stamped on it.

“Stiles?” Stanford? When did he even apply there? When did he apply to _her_ first choice? And why would he when he obviously is gonna go wherever Scott is going?

His mouth drops open and he sputters for a moment. “That wasn't sloppy! _Scott_ wouldn't have been able to find it, let alone in under two freaking minutes. You -- you just have magic powers, that's all there is to it.”

He starts to agree but then she's looking at the envelope. He can see the second it dawns on her what he did and he swallows hard, nerves making him antsier than usual as he moves toward her.

“It's not -- it's fine. It's just a rejection letter, which I was expecting. I mean my grades kinda wavered for a little while last year --” During the whole possession nightmare. 

“I wasn't really expecting to get in, so I didn't say anything to anyone. I mean my dad doesn't even know I applied so he won't have this whole big -- like, letdown to deal with. That's why I didn't want anyone to see it, because I wasn't going to say anything at all. To anyone. Ever. “

She'll go back to telling him how sloppy it was and in which ways it was sloppy after they're through with the more important discussion. The part where he actually did consciously apply to Stanford and that this isn't some kind of mistake.

“You don't know that! You don't know that it's a rejection, Stiles. You didn't even _open_ it. And you're extremely smart, you could have gotten in.” And part of her hopes she did. Part of her knows it'd be good for him if he did.

But then the more selfish part of her knows it'd just make things harder. because he's not going. He's just gonna go where Scott goes. She's accepted this, she's aware she's going to Stanford on her own. She doesn't need to go through the process of getting her hopes up.

Still, she's unconsciously reaching to open the envelope. Because she needs to _know_. She needs that hope, even if it's short-lived.

Except if he thinks he got in, it means he didn't. And he's already accepted the fact that he _hasn't_ got in and that's much easier than seeing the sympathy or pity on people's faces when they find out he got rejected from the best college on the west coast. He knows he's smart, but he'd struggled a lot for weeks before, during and after the nogitsune possessed him. He'd gotten caught up eventually and the hit wasn't as hard as he'd anticipated, all things considered.

But then he'd been trying to help _Malia_ \-- not only to get caught up in school but to get control over her abilities. There'd been the whole thing with the deadpool and Liam becoming part of the pack, and it had been a non-stop roller coaster ride through the rest of last year and half the summer. And then the whole thing with the doctors and Donovan and Theo...all of which he really immensely doesn't want to think about right now, so he pushes those thoughts aside, his breathing a little more shallow than before as he watches Lydia start to open the envelope.

He reaches out without thinking about it and stills her hand.

“Wait.” His heart is beating fast. Too fast.

The fact that he looks more and more anxious only makes her fingers slide into the fold of the envelope further, starting to rip it open.

When he stills her hand, she looks down at it. At his very warm hand over hers and takes a deep breath. It's not hers to open. And either way, they're supposed to go meet up with Scott and Allison. 

“Sorry.” She says quietly, pulling her fingers from the envelope but not away from his hand. Not completely.

He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, not pulling his hand away either. In fact, his fingers curl into hers and he finds himself relaxing a little, lifting his gaze to meet her eyes.

“You don't owe me an apology for anything. You didn't do anything wrong.”

He looks at the envelope, chewing his lower lip.

“Scott wants us to all open them together.”

She curls her fingers around his unconsciously as she holds his gaze then nods, looking down at the envelope.

“No. I know. I meant-- We should just go over there and get them all open together. That was the plan.”

With a deep breath, she looks at him again. She knows he's sure he didn't get in. But she's sure he did. When they were all reviewing each others' applications she saw his. They were good. His essays -- if a little unbelievable for most of the normal world -- were really good. And he's always had really good grades save for that short period junior year.

And she wants to ask him if he'd actually go if he got in. If he just applied to see if he would get in. But she just stares at him instead.

Because if he didn't, for some reason get in. Then this would be harder on him.

“Yeah. We should stick with the plan.”

He nods a little and squeezes her hand gently without really thinking about it before he reluctantly lets go, motioning to it.

“You should hold onto it. I'll get the others.” He draws in a breath and moves to pick up his computer, grabbing the other two envelopes from underneath it and giving her a sheepish look and a shrug.

“UCLA and Neptune University.”

She takes a deep breath and reaches for the other two letters, making a little stack with all three of his.

“I have Allison's.” Reaching inside her purse, she pulls a little stack of her own, then hold her breath as she looks down at them.

“I didn't get mine from Stanford yet. But I do have Berkley. And-- the others.” She told them she was submitting an application for Harvard. But she never told them about the other, further away choice. She won't go. She couldn't. But she was annoyed with Stiles not picking up his phone and Allison still being in France and at the time Parrish was working, and she felt alone. So she just kind of filled out her Oxford application.

“Which one did she get? Or...which ones, I guess?”

He watches her for a moment and then hesitantly reaches out for the envelopes that belong to her. The Harvard one isn't a surprise even if it makes him nervous that she applied to a place on the opposite coast. Of course she got in. She doesn't even need to open them. She's a shoe-in to any and every place she applied. Perks of being an actual genius.

It's when he comes to the last one that he grows still, face paling as he stares at the return emblem.

Oxford.

All the air leaves his lungs and he swallows hard, feeling kinda dizzy and like he needs to sit down.

“Oh.”

“I think all of the ones she applied into are already here. UCLA, USF, UCSF and Stanford.”

And she doesn't think it will be a problem for Allison to get into all of them. She helped Allison too, they all helped each other and they all have pretty good applications.

But then she sees the look on his face and she knows he saw it. She reaches out, covering his hand with hers and shaking her head.

“I'm not going. I wasn't even gonna tell anyone I applied at all.”

“Yeah.” His voice is quieter than it was seconds ago, because he barely hears what she has to say about Allison's letters.

His eyes are still locked on the Oxford stamp. _This_ definitely hadn't been part of his vision for after high school. This hadn't even crossed his mind. But it's obviously crossed hers, whether she decides to attend or not.

“It's one of the top universities on the planet.” He doesn't look up at her, can't look up at her.

“I know.” And it's in England. And a small part of her wonders what it'd be like to live in an entirely different country for a while. Of course she also considered actually finding out how Jackson is doing. Just to be sure he's actually okay since he stopped answering her message when he left.

But it was just a fleeting thought. And it doesn't matter anyway.

“I didn't delay my graduation by a whole year just to up and move halfway across the world after, Stiles.”

“But you applied. Doesn't that mean at some point, some part of you wanted to go? Considered it?” He feels like he needs to sit down, but his legs also feel like they're rooted to the floor. It's an ironic visual image, all things considered.

“Maybe.” When he was still with Malia. When she was still trying to find a place for herself, when she wasn't even sure she could do the pack any good.

But things are different now. Allison is better and it's like it was in the beginning. Just the four of them.

“Maybe just as much as you're considering actually going to Stanford.” If he's going to ask her that. She'll ask him.

He finally lifts his gaze to look at her, expression unreadable.

“That all kind of depends on whether or not I even got in.” And he probably didn't. “You definitely got in to Oxford. And Harvard. And Stanford. And every other place you applied.” There's zero doubt in his voice and he meets her eyes.

“You _have_ to know that, right?”

“No. I _don't_ know that.” Because of course she's as nervous as the rest of them. If the past couple of years proved her anything is that no matter how hard she tries, she's not actually good at everything.

“I missed a lot of classes during Junior year. And I have a history of behavioral problems thanks to having Peter in my head. Besides, for all I know, I submitted those applications entirely in gibberish code of some sort, so _stop saying I definitely got in!_ ”

Lydia stops and takes a deep breath, her eyes a little wide. And she's frustrated but she knows it's not his fault.

“I won't know until we open them. And the Stanford one isn't even here yet. So. I don't know.” 

He flinches at the anger in her voice and takes a step back involuntarily. He holds the envelopes back out to her without comment.

He knows she missed a lot of classes junior year -- mostly because of him. Because he'd been possessed, because she'd felt so much of it in ways the others hadn't. It's not something they've ever really discussed, but they're connected to each other because of that ritual and they both know it even if they've never talked about it. Sometimes you don't have to talk about things because there's no point. There's no changing it.

“Okay.” He doesn't want to argue with her. He turns and heads to his closet, removing his sneakers and sitting down on the edge of the bed before pulling them on and tying the laces. “I'll just grab my jacket and I'll be ready to go to Scott's.”

She sighs deeply and places all of the envelopes back in her purse, taking her time to adjust them mostly so she doesn't have to look at him.

She hates this. Snapping at each other like that. She does it sometimes, he does it sometimes. It's just part of their dynamic now and she knows it's because they're just under a lot of stress, but she still hates it.

Maybe it'll get better once everything about college is sorted out, once they know what's really happening. Maybe.

“Okay. I can drive.”

He hates the way they snap at each other these days too. The way they don't have patience for each other the way they once did. The way it's hard to keep eye contact with her for very long anymore for various reasons.

And he knows a lot of it's because of how stressed they are over the college stuff, but it's not like that makes him feel better about it.

“That's good. The jeep's in the shop.” He'd scrounged every dollar he had saved in the last three months together and sucked it up to get his jeep in better working condition before going off to school.

 _Finally_ is the response that comes to mind. But she instinctively censors herself. She doesn't want to hurt his feelings.

Even if she absolutely hates that her instinct is now to censor herself around Stiles. The one person who always seemed to believe in her no matter how much she doubted herself.

It makes her chest tight to think about all the times he told her he trusted her or believed in her. Just like he did a few moments ago about college. And she doesn't even realize she's looking at him for a moment too long, with her expression just a little too sincere. Because she really misses being normal around him. The old normal.

Again. Maybe in a few months.

For now, she just nods and adjusts the strap of her purse over her shoulder, then starts down the stairs. “How long before it's ready?”

“They didn't say. Hopefully soon.” He pulls his jacket on and follows her down the stairs, zipping it up on the way.

“Contrary to what popular culture had me believe, duct tape doesn't fix everything for eternity.” There's a hell of a lot that duct tape doesn't fix. Breakups. Broken friendships. College rejection letters. Jeep alternators. He sighs inaudibly and grabs his house keys from the basket by the door, following Lydia outside and locking up the house.

“Well, if you need a ride anywhere, let me know.” She glances back at him as she offers, she means it. It's not like she has anything to do until college starts. Not unless some other supernatural emergency starts.

She makes her way over to her car and waits for him to get in.

“But I'm glad the jeep will be more reliable now.” Him driving that thing anywhere, even more out of town, terrifies her.

“Thanks.” He won't call unless it's an emergency. Not at this point. Even if he knows she means it, and he does know that much. He climbs into the passenger seat of her car and stretches the seat belt across him, clicking it into place.

“You hate my jeep.” He gives her a knowing look but his words hold no malice.

“I don't hate your jeep!” She says, a little defensively until she sees the look on his face. As she starts the car, she shrugs, smiling a little.

I think it has-- _personality_. And from her tone he can probably tell that's one hundred percent bullshit. “I just hate that it's been so unreliable lately. Especially with everything we're always dealing with. And particularly after we move.”

She wrinkles her nose a little, then shrugs a shoulder at him. He already knows it, anyway. “Yeah. I hate you jeep.”

He snorts at her denial and gives her a _look_. She's been complaining about his jeep since their date to the winter formal three years ago. He's well-aware of how she feels about it.

“It _does_ have personality. Its personality matches its owner, therefore you can't _really_ hate it without hating me, and you definitely don't hate _me_ , right?” He smirks at her and then shakes his head as she drives them away from his house and toward Scott's.

“You're not an old, broken piece of junk.” She points out, smirking softly at him. She knows how attached he is to said old, broken piece of junk. So even though she doesn't like it, she wouldn't really insult it that much and mean it.

“And you don't let us down when we need you.”

He makes a face at her, complete with sticking his tongue out at her. Whatever, he's only an adult _technically_.

“Yeah, well I'm no Toyota Highlander, but I guess I get the job done when I have to.” His voice is light and he looks out the windshield as he casually references Parrish's car, wondering how things are going with her and Parrish even if he kind of doesn't really want to know.

She smiles when he sticks his tongue out at her, relaxing a little. That's better than how she felt back in his room.

But then his comment throws her off. And she knows it's too specific to be accidental. And it's _Stiles_. Of course he knows what car Parrish drives. And of course it's meant to be some kind of comparison. But _seriously_? He was the one dating Malia -- out of _nowhere_ , by the way -- for over a year.

Besides, what does he care who she's seeing? Or not seeing? He doesn't. Which is why his comment just makes very little sense.

“Like I said. Unlike your _jeep_ , which is completely unreliable.” Seriously, it was a compliment to him, and then he turned this into-- whatever the hell he's trying to turn this into. She's getting frustrated with him again.

He's not trying to be mean or rude when he says it. It just -- comes out. Light-hearted in tone, but less light-hearted in his chest. In his head. There it weighs on him and by the sharp tone of her voice, he knows he stepped out of line by mentioning Parrish at all.

Apparently that's something else they can't talk about. He mentally adds it to the list of things they're not allowed to discuss.

“Yeah, I got it.” He shrugs, voice becoming more nonchalant.

She just wants to yell at him. To ask him what the hell is his problem? What the hell does he want? What the hell did he _mean_ by that?

She throws him a glare at his lack of response, then rolls her eyes and huffs as she adjusts on her sit again.

Arguing with him isn't exactly her favorite past time. So she'll just takes deep breaths until they get to Scott's and not say another word. Because apparently everything she says gets twisted into something else these days.

It only takes a couple of uncomfortable, tense moments before the tension is a little too thick, a little too uncomfortable. He sighs softly and glances at her sideways, pursing his lips. “I wasn't trying to piss you off. I was just -- talking. It's a thing I do. Naturally my foot ends up in my mouth because my mouth just happens to be _that_ big and out of control. This isn't a new thing.”

“I didn't say anything.” It's an immediate answer to his attempt at an apology. It's as tense as she feels. But then she takes one look at him and sighs softly, shaking her head as she focuses on the road again.

“I don't wanna argue with you, Stiles.” She doesn't even know what this is about to begin with.

“I don't wanna argue with you either.” He rubs a hand over his face and looks out the side window. “It was just -- I don't know. Kind of a joke I guess. “

“It's fine.” She keeps her voice quiet but she means it when she tells him that.

Her grip on the wheel tightens as she shifts on her seat and takes a deep, calming, breath. She got used to arguing with him when it comes to-- pretty much everything else. But she hates doing it when it's something personal.

Which is why she avoided talking about or to Malia completely if possible. Aside from a few rants to Allison here and there. She never felt like the girl was good enough for him. but she respected Stiles' choices and she wanted to see him happy and make him feel like his friends supported him.

“We're all just stressed out.” Another deep breath and she tries to smile at him. “Who knew college would be worse on our nerves than the supernatural?”

He gazes at her for a moment, anxious to make sure he hasn't screwed up royally again and when she tells him it's fine, he doesn't exactly believe her, but he lets it go, looking out the windshield again.

“We're so used to the supernatural stuff by now that it's old hat?” He tries to smile, too, but doesn't quite manage it. “The college thing is completely new. And a huge change.” And they were splitting up. It was inevitable. He hadn't applied to UC Davis, which is the only school _Scott_ had applied to. He was going to be away from his best friend for the first time ever -- for weeks at a time. And who even knows where Lydia and Allison will end up. “It's definitely stressful.”

“Yeah.” And it turns her stomach to think about it. How huge a change it is. Even if she felt disconnected from most of the pack, especially while Allison was away, she doesn't know what this means for when they're all separated.

She was already feeling left out when they were still in the same town. What if she just ends up calling them whenever she finds a body? Is it even going to matter if they're two hours away?

Her stomach tightens and she takes a, shaky breath o try and calm herself down.

“We should take a break. After we all get our letters. Just-- go somewhere. Be normal before--” Before they go their separate ways. But she can't bring herself to say that, so she just purses her lips together and glances at him.

“Like where?” He's not even sure what qualifies as being normal anymore. They haven't been normal in such a long time now. But isn't that what this is about? Going off to college, the next step in their lives, back on the path to normal?

He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, trying to ignore his own rising feeling of anxiety. He taps his fingers against his jeans, in tune to some random Avicii song he'd heard on the radio earlier today. (Okay so it isn't really random, it's _Hey, Brother_ and maybe he'd been playing it on his iPod. On repeat. For two hours. Whatever. Same difference.)

“Before we go to college.” Before we're more divided than we already are.

“I don't know. Could be the lakehouse?” She's suggesting it very casually, but it's something she's been thinking about for a while now. They never had to sell it, anyway. So they might as well use it before they move away.

“Yeah. Before college.” She looks away again at that. She used to think of going to college as some kind of liberation. Away from Beacon Hills, away from -- at the time -- Jackson and having to pretend to be something she wasn't for his benefit.

Now it just feels like it's ripping her apart, taking away the most important relationships she's had in her life. That she knows she can't replace.

“Yeah it's been a long time since we've been there.” Since they hadn't needed it for the seclusion or the security of the basement. Since Malia had gotten fairly good control over her shifts and Liam they'd just started chaining up to trees when it was necessary.

He chews on his thumbnail. “Yeah.” He fidgets for a moment, then looks at her sideways. “What if we all leave and things here get bad?” 

“It's close enough and free, so.” She shrugs a shoulder. He doesn't seem too enthused about the suggestion, but he doesn't seem to be against it either.

Lydia pauses at his question, turning to look at him as she stops on a red light and considering him for a long moment.

“Then we come back. Take a semester off, or something.” In a weird way, that gives her some hope. She doesn't want anyone getting hurt, but if they're needed, they'll come back. Together. And even if they're drifting apart, they'll have to work as a team again. As a pack. Maybe a supernatural emergency wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.

He's not against it at all. He's just distracted by the other thoughts swirling through his head. He looks over at her when she looks at him.

“I'm worried about my dad.” His voice drops a little and he chews his lower lip. “Being here alone. Without me or any of us looking after him. Without anyone protecting him from all the crap that goes down. I mean, yeah we can always come back but what if…” What if they're too late?

“He won't be alone.” Lydia shakes her head a little, then the light turns green so she looks back at the road.

“He has Melissa. And Liam and Mason. And my mom. And Jordan.” And she really only mentions him because out of all of them, Jordan is the closest person to the Sheriff. And he looks up to him. She has no doubt he'd protect him no matter what.

“We can get back really fast. And if something really bad is about to happen-- I'll know.” Hopefully.

He wants to point out that it's not the same. That no one will be looking after his dad's eating habits if he's not there to do it, that no one will be making sure he doesn't work over twelve hours at a time, that he's not drinking too much. He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. Maybe I can get them to take turns taking my dad healthy food, too.” The rest he doesn't want to think about.

“I really think you should talk to Melissa. I mean, they've always had both of you around, spending time together once you move out will probably be good for them.” That and she's seen a few looks being exchanged between the two of them. She's pretty sure there's something there, but she doesn't know if either of the boys are ready to see or accept that.

“I will. I'm not sure baby wolf is up to the responsibility of making sure Dad eats right.” He cracks a smile and looks at her sideways.

“Probably not.” She smiles back at him. Apparently things are a lot easier when they're talking about anything that doesn't involve each other. In any way. She can do that. She can focus on everything else for the sake of their friendship.

“You'd end up torturing him because you dad would tell him to get lost, and you'd pressure him to get back in there. “

His expression brightens a little. “So what you're saying is that I _should_ assign him to the task because it's win/win.”

“You're a terrible person.” She knew she'd just give him ideas on how to torture poor Liam. But at least he looks happier at the prospect of having fun with it now? She'll tell Liam to just stop going if he tries to make it go on for too long.

“A week, tops.” Because in the end, she thinks this will be good for Liam, too. He'll feel less left behind, less forgotten, if he has a mission.

“It keeps me awake nights.” He smirks at her before facing forward again, a little calmer now that they were returning to familiar territory: aka, his "torture" of Liam. “It'll be good for him.”

“I think so too.” She says smiling softly at him as she parks the car in front of the McCall's. Suddenly butterflies in her stomach because they're so much closer to opening their letters. His letter. To Stanford.

“Allison's already here, so--” And a deep breath. She's nervous, but at the same time, her tension seems a lot more focused on the letters now than at him, which feels nice. Like they're in this together.

Stiles reaches out when she takes a deep breath, and he rests his hand on her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before meeting her eyes.

“Whatever happens...whatever we all find out. It'll be okay.” So if he doesn't get into any of the colleges he applied to, he'll stay in Beacon Hills and go to the local university. He'll hang with Liam and Mason and his dad and it'll be fine.

" _We'll_ be okay."

The way he's looking at her makes her chest tight. With this soft smile, he actually looks like he believes that. And it helps her calm down some more.

She glances down at his hand on her arm and only hesitates for a second before lifting her hand to cover his. She wraps her fingers tightly around his hand and nods slightly.

“Yeah, we will.” Even if they're two or four hours away from each other. They'll figure this out. They always do.


	2. Chapter 2

Sender: Stiles Stilinski  
Time: 9:36 PM

>> Guess what?

Before she replies to him, she pauses and squints at her phone for a long moment. Because coming from Stiles, she knows something must have happened.

>> I'd rather not.  
>> What?

Stiles smirks, not the least bit surprised by her response.

>> So negative.  
>> You got into Stanford.  
>> Told you so. 

She doesn't reply to him when she reads the message. He has to know that's a cruel joke, right? He has to know she's been even more stressed out since the previous day when she found out _he_ got into Stanford. Not because this is some kind of competition with Stiles. But because now there's a real chance he'll actually be going there. And he applied to her number one choice.

And yes, she got into Berkley which is pretty close to where he and Allison will probably end up if he picks Stanford. But, it's not her first choice.

She picks up her phone again and starts typing a reply. Ready to yell at him and tell him this isn't funny. But instead, she just tosses her phone on her bed and turns her attention back to the book she was reading. She doesn't wanna argue with him, and maybe he'll figure out he's being an idiot and apologize before she has to.

When she doesn't respond, he frowns, staring at the phone and then turning it on again just in case he somehow missed her text even though he hasn't taken his eyes off it. But there's nothing. He waits.

And waits.

After about five minutes -- in which time he checks his email (twice), brushes his teeth, and kicks the air conditioning down because he's freezing -- he sends her another text.

>> Lyds?  
>> You all right?  
>> You're not in a fugue state right?

And in that time he waited to text her again, she manages to make it through about two paragraphs of her book because she just can't seem to concentrate in what she's reading at all -- which is never really a problem for her -- because she keeps glancing sideways at the phone on her bed instead of actually making out the words on the paper.

When he does text her back, her heart skips a beat. But the second she sees the three texts popping up on her screen, one after the other, her jaw clenches.

She picks up the phone to ask him if he's seriously asking her that.

But instead, she ends up pressing the facetime button instead. Yelling at him live will be get the message across much better. He can see how pissed she looks, at least.

And she does look pissed. His frown deepens and he raises his eyebrows. "Okay, in my defense I wasn't trying to be funny with the fugue state stuff. I was legitimately worried but I can see you're okay and in your room and looking very pissed off so...what's going on?"

And he looks as confused as he sounds. 

"Are you _serious_?" She demands, her eyes narrowing even more as she holds her phone up to her face, because yes, she's wearing pajamas -- well, a tank top and very small shorts -- and she's only really doing this instead of a regular phone call because she doesn't take off her make up until the very last second before bed.

"Stiles!" Her voice takes a higher pitch. The one it usually does when she's very frustrated with him and feels like she could actually shake him.

"You _know_ how much Stanford means to me, okay? And you _know_ I still don't have my stupid letter. And I know you're not enough of an idiot to think saying that I got in was remotely funny! Even if you're acting like one right now." 

His mouth drops open at her tirade and he stares back at her face on his computer screen for a long, silent moment. Then he shakes his head.

"Oh my god, I'm not kidding, Lydia. Do you really think I'd joke about this?" There's a hint of hurt in his voice. Sure, they'd grown apart over the last year and he's not sure they'll ever be as close as they'd once been, but he'd never do that to her.

"You got _in_." He moves off screen for a moment, and then picks up a piece of paper, holding it up for her to see. It's a copy of her acceptance letter on Stanford letter head, even if it's not the original copy, obviously. "You need to call them tomorrow and follow up because it probably got lost in the mail. Which is obviously why they should send an email or something in addition to regular mail because this is the 21st freaking century." 

It doesn't take much more to convince her. Because they did grow apart, but she can still read Stiles fairly well. And she knows that look on his face. That _hurt_ on his face.

Still, for a moment, she just stares at him, because-- yes, she realizes it's true. When he shows her the paper and she can see her name on it, her heart skips a beat again. This time for entirely different reasons.

"How did you get that?" Any other time, she'd know better than to asking Stiles how he got information he shouldn't have access too, but right now, she's pretty overwhelmed. And maybe starting toward relief.

He relaxes a little when she finally just stares at him and he sees the realization sinking in. He can't help but grin, leaning back in his chair. He'd done something good, something that would put her mind at ease. Or so he thinks.

At least until she asks him how he got that.

"Uh. Well. I may have accidentally hacked into the record's office. Just a little?" He shrugs a shoulder. 

This time, though, she just laughs softly. Her eyes tear up, but she's smiling in just pure relief. Because he _did_ do something good, he did put her mind at ease. Even if it was through completely illegal means. But it's Stiles. Ends always justify the means with him.

"Of course you did." She grins softly, watching him through the camera.

"I can't believe you hacked into Stanford."

His smile brightens when she laughs, the way it always does. The way it always has. "I'd have shown you sooner but I literally just managed to hack in." He'd maybe been trying since after they all parted ways the night before, but he doesn't say that. She doesn't need to know that.

"So what do you say we go out and celebrate? Ice cream sundaes?" he suggests. "Because I could use a sugar rush." 

Her face brightens and she grins back at him, she wants to see him, to see that letter in person. And to thank him for it. So she nods almost immediately.

"Yes, I'll buy you ice cream for your illegal activity," she adds.

"You still don't have the jeep, right? I'll change and come get you." 

"I'm still jeep-less." His smile falls a little because dammit, he misses his jeep, and he's seriously contemplated walking to the repair place to visit her. Not that he'd admit that out loud, especially to Lydia.

"All right. I'll see you in a few then, my Future Stanford Valedictorian." He winks at her, not even realizing that he tossed the word my in before the rest of the title. "I'm thinking Chunky Monkey, personally." 

He smiles, pleased with her reassurance because it's not like she has to acknowledge it at all. "I hope so."

He could have picked something else. Baskin Robins, maybe. But it's kind of late and being out and about for long after dark in Beacon Hills is just asking for trouble in his experience. So Ben and Jerry's it is, and they can come back and hang out, or maybe watch a movie or something.

He waves at her before she ends the call and then he glances around his room. Nothing's really out of order, but he straightens things up a little anyway, and pulls on a clean gray shirt and a plaid button down shirt, tugging his shoes on so he's ready to go when she arrives. He grabs his wallet and heads for the door to wait for her.

The fact that she actually makes it to his house in about half an hour should be a big indicator of how anxious she is to get there. She does her usual Lydia routine before leaving the house: checking up on her make up, freshening up her up-do and of course, redressing herself. This time, she options for leggings, boots and a tunic top. Mostly for practicality and so she won't waste time matching a sweater to a dress.

When she pulls up to his house, she takes a deep breath and smiles at him, lowering the passenger's window so he can see her inside the car.

"C'mon." She's mostly pushed down the whole anxiety about him going to Stanford for now. She wants to thank him for getting her letter for her first. But it's definitely still part of her plan.

Its definitely an indicator. He half expected to be waiting for at least an hour, so the fact that it doesn't take that long is a pleasant surprise. It's a warm night, but he's wearing long-sleeves and a light weight jacket anyway. He heads over toward her car as soon as she pulls in, giving her a grin and holding out the letter to her as he climbs in the passenger seat.

"Behold, fair maiden," he jokes, handing it over, watching her expression as she looks at it and holding his breath. Hacking wasn't normally something that he made a habit of doing -- he actually preferred breaking and entering physically than wirelessly, but driving to Stanford and breaking into the administration office wasn't really a valid option, so he's glad he paid attention to Danny several years ago when he'd done some hacking for Stiles.

She knew she didn't even have to ask him to bring the letter for her. That he'd just do it anyway. Because he's Stiles. And he's oddly thoughtful about most things. Especially when you don't expect him to be.

As soon as he holds the letter out, she takes it, reading it carefully for a moment. It's still missing out information about her scholarship, but the message is clear. This page of the letter is exactly like his and yes, she's in.

Her face brightens as she turns to look at him, and then, without warning, she leans closer and wraps her arms tightly around him.

"Thank you. For committing a felony." 

He watches her, watches the way her face brightens and his does, too, instinctively. He's surprised when she leans in suddenly and hugs him. He closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around her in return. It's been a long time since they'd hugged. He's not even sure how long, but as soon as it's happening he realizes how much he's missed the contact. How much he's missed her.

Stiles rubs her back a little, heart beating faster than it had been moments before. The familiar scent of her shampoo and perfume, a mix of jasmine, rose, and strawberry, is comforting and he feels something stir within him that he's been trying to ignore for a long time. He reminds himself that he isn't a werewolf and smelling his friends is kinda disturbing. After a moment longer, he pulls away, soft smile on his face as he gazes at her.

"I'm guessing scholarship information will come soon, too. I don't have any info. on that part either." 

When he hold her back, she feels it too. Something almost overwhelming, but sweet and-- maybe even nostalgic at the same time. She tightens her arms around him as her heart rate speeds up, too. It takes her a moment, but she finally can put her finger on it.

Stiles just feels like Stiles again. Like he used to when they were around each other all the time. This feels easy and safe and comforting. There's no tension between them right now.

Even when he pulls away and smiles at her like that, she finds herself smiling right back at him. An open, sincere smile that just comes naturally.

"I figured that was why it was taking a while. But I'll call them tomorrow." 

He holds her gaze and nods slightly. "They'd have been nuts not to take you of all people." Especially when they'd accepted him. He's pretty sure that she'll be miles ahead of even the older classes of students already at Stanford. His hand rests lightly on her arm but he doesn't seem to notice.

Stiles leans against the seat of her car, smile soft and sincere. "I never doubted it for a second." 

Lydia smiles more at his compliment and looks away for a second. "I know you wouldn't have told me that unless you meant it."

Stiles has always had such faith on her. She's not sure she deserves it still, but it has always helped her a lot. When she was in the process of joining the pack, she was figuring out the banshee stuff, when she started helping him figure out the supernatural.

When he pulls away and leans against the seat, she reaches for his hand instantly. It's instinct, not wanting to miss the connection. But she just squeezes his hand for a second, then lets go of it.

"Sorry I snapped at you when you said that to me. I was just--" she sighs softly, shrugging a shoulder. "Terrified, I guess."

He nods slightly at that because he wouldn't mess with her like that regardless of how far they'd drifted in the last year and a half. He cared too much about her for that. Respected her too much. And he doesn't really think she'd thought he was screwing with her head, he thinks she'd just been acting on impulse because the letter wasn't in her hands.

Stiles looks down at their hands when she reaches for it, and tries to squash the disappointment he feels when she pulls away so quickly. They aren't those people anymore, he thinks and he has to try very hard not to let the sadness he suddenly feels show on his face.

"It's okay. I get it. It's all been pretty nerve wracking in general," he tells her. 

It's almost like she can feel his mood shift the second she pulls her hand away. Or maybe she's just feeling that sadness and loss herself. But when she glances at his face, she knows she's not alone.

But they aren't there anymore. Of course, it doesn't mean she needs to let things get as bad as they have been lately. She loves Stiles, he's one of her best friends, regardless of anything else. They've been through a lot together and he's just going through his first break up and this whole mess of college on top of it. Of course he's been very sensitive to things.

And that's when she makes the decision to try and be there for him more. Just like he's there for her right now.

Reaching for his hand again is probably not the best approach, so she starts the car and starts toward the ice cream place.

"Are you-- feeling any better now that you're in? I mean, I'm not at all surprised you got into every single school you applied into. But it does give a different perspective, right?"

Stiles shifts in his seat so he's facing forward when she starts the car again and drives them toward the store for Ben and Jerry's.

He's lost in a swirl of thoughts about how different things are now from how they were just a year and a half ago. Malia hadn't been in the picture at all yet. Isaac had still been around. Derek. Cora. A year and a half ago there hadn't been metaphorical blood all over his hands. Things should be different in so many ways, but they aren't.

He blinks a couple times when she speaks to him and he turns his head to look at her. "Yes and no, if that makes sense. I mean, I'm glad I got in, and still kind of shocked, but...now it's even more real." And kind of terrifying. He smiles a little at her remark that she's not surprised he was accepted everywhere though. 

"Yeah. It does feel more real." And definitely more terrifying. Mostly because now she doesn't know what he's going to choose and since she found that letter in his room, him coming to Stanford with her suddenly became something she really, really wants. Especially now that she knows he didn't actually apply to UC Davis -- the only place where Scott applied.

Logically, it makes perfect sense for Stiles to pick Stanford. It's the best school in the west coast. Their criminology program is really great. And he'd be much closer to the rest of them than with any of his other choices.

But Stiles isn't always logical. He's brilliant, but not logical. Which works really well with the supernatural and with the type of investigations they have to do. But-- it might not work really well in this case.

"Are you -- do you have a first choice?" She hates that she sounds as anxious about asking that question as she feels, but she needs to get it out of the way.

And it's weighing a lot more heavily on him now in a whole different way. The idea of being separated from his dad is one level of terrifying. Being separated from Scott is another level he hasn't experienced before.

The third part of it is -- he knows what he wants, but he's not sure it's okay for him to want it. He's not sure if she'll be okay with him wanting what he wants. He's quiet for a moment when she asks and he glances at her sideways, holding his breath.

"Yeah." But by the anxiety in her voice, he's not sure he wants to admit it. He chews his thumbnail nervously, looking out the windshield. "I'm uh -- I'm assuming Stanford's yours?" 

"It's always been." Well, after she joined the pack, after Stiles started telling them about his vision. After she decided to take her senior year of high school just so they could all go to prom together -- even if that was an event in and off itself with everything that was happening. But the point is, she has chosen the pack over everything else a long time ago now.

She's known for a long time that Stanford is a good school, and more importantly, she's known that with Allison going to University of San Francisco, they'd only be about an hour away from each other. Which isn't bad at all.

"Now I guess it's just official." She throws him a small smile, but she doesn't like how unsure he looks. She's pretty sure he's not going to Stanford. Why would he hesitate to tell her if he was?

She parks the car outside the store a moment later, and reaches for her purse. "I'll go grab the ice cream real quick, if you wanna wait here."

"Oh." He wonders where exactly on her list Harvard and Oxford had fallen, but he doesn't ask. He'd been talking about his vision since just before the start of senior year, but pieces of it had already fallen apart. Malia was gone, off somewhere with her mother. Kira had gone back to New York. They couldn't all live in one central location from their colleges of choice because all the colleges of choice required out of town freshman live on campus. Nothing about his vision was really working out.

He wishes he was surprised, but he's just not anymore.

"It's good," he says quietly, offering her a soft smile in return. He's proud of her. Then again he always has been.

"Oh. Yeah, okay. If you're sure." He arches his eyebrows. "I can come in with you." 

"It's okay. I'm buying yours, anyway." She smiles at him once again then starts out of her car.

The truth is, she needs a moment. He didn't say it out loud, but he implied it by not saying anything at all. He's not going to Stanford. Lydia makes her way into the store, going straight to the freezers and she's glad it's late and it's nearly empty because her eyes are tearing up.

Ever since she saw him opening that letter, the one that _confirmed_ he was in, she's been allowing herself to hope that maybe she wasn't going to have to go to school by herself. She's terrified of it. What if she has a fugue state and no one is there to stop her from wandering right into something dangerous? What if she can sense something happening and they're all hours away?

She knows they're all going to different school. She knows they're all dealing with the same fears. But she actually allowed herself to hope that Stiles was going to go through with it. And now she's upset.

But she also knows it's not his fault for getting her hopes up when he never said he was going there in the first place. She knows it's not rational for him to change whatever he's planning because of her. They're friends, but they're not even friends like they used to be anymore.

She's the one being irrational.

He watches her head away, into the store and he sighs, laying his head back against the headrest and then shutting his eyes when she vanishes. He knows he needs to ask her. To make sure she's okay with it, but he's also half afraid of what her answer is going to be. He doesn't want her to pretend like she's okay with something she isn't.

And at this point, he's afraid she'll do just that. He rubs his hands over his face, exhaling. After a few moments pass, he looks toward the door but there's no sign of Lydia. He frowns, glancing at the clock. After a few more minutes, he climbs out of the car and leans against it because it's too warm inside to sit comfortably.

He's about ready to head inside to make sure nothing terrible is happening, or to make sure she hasn't had some kind of banshee vision and wandered out the back door and off into the night, but then he spots her near the exit, carrying a bag. He takes a deep breath and slowly heading for the door to meet her.

For a long moment, she just stands there and looks at the ice cream display. When she realizes what she's doing, she picks up a carton for each one of them. And then she realizes she has already taken too long, so she needs an excuse, so she makes her way to the end of the isle and picks up some toppings as well.

She's really not surprised at all to see him heading to the door when she finally makes her way outside with a couple of bags instead of just one with the original ice cream. Hopefully he won't question why she took as long as she did.

Because even with their problems, even with their inability to really communicate like they used to, Lydia still can't lie to Stiles. And the last thing she wants is for him to feel some sense of responsibility over her. He already feels that way about his dad and Scott. He doesn't need the added stress.

"Hey. I was looking for toppings. Do you wanna go back to your house or my house?" She stops herself from adding anything else, because she knows if she's overly cheerful, he'll pick up on that, too.

He exhales as he approaches her, looking a little relieved because she's obviously okay, and then she says she was looking for toppings. He studies her for the briefest of moments, and then reaches out, taking the bags from her.

Stiles can tell something isn't quite right, and he's pretty sure he knows what it is and he feels his heart sink. He bites his lip.

"Either's okay with me. Wherever you wanna go." Wherever she'd be most comfortable. He doesn't want her to be uncomfortable at his house. He'd never want that. 

"Thanks," she says, smiling a little at him as he takes the bags from her, then she makes her way around the car and inside.

She knows he's picking up on something. Either that, or he's already bothered by something, too. Maybe he even figured out what she's expecting of him. Maybe, he just isn't comfortable with telling her the truth. Lydia isn't a drinker, she doesn't like losing control over herself like she knows she would if she got drunk. But it's situations like this that help her understand why people enjoy it. Numbness makes things a lot easier.

"Let's go to your place. It's closer." It's also more logical since then she'd have to drive him home later. And on top of that, she doesn't even remember the last time she's been to her house. And she doesn't want him to be even more uncomfortable than he already is. Not when this is supposed to be about her thanking him for getting her letter.

He climbs back into the passenger seat of her car and sets the bags on the floor beside his feet. He nods his agreement at her decision, even if it kind of surprises him that she's picked his house rather than her own at this point. He fidgets in the seat, tapping his fingers on his legs as she drives back toward his house.

This time silence falls between them and it feels like the awkward, uncomfortable kind and he hates it. He wants to make some kind of crack or joke about it, but he's pretty sure that would just make it worse now. By the time they reach his house, he's ready to climb out of his own skin and he shoves the door open, taking a deep breath of the night air even if it's more hot and stifling than refreshing. He grabs the bags and waits for her to get out of the car before leading the way to the door and unlocking it.

More and more, drowning his thoughts in a carton of ice cream is seeming like a good plan, and he wonders if she'll think it's weird if he grabs a bottle of Jack to go along with it. He's not exactly a drinker either -- here and there, on occasion, but there's a slight bit of fear on his part, that alcoholism is in his genetic makeup and he doesn't want to overdo. Besides, getting drunk in front of Lydia probably isn't a great plan. He leads her to the kitchen and grabs a couple spoons. "So uh -- what flavor did you end up with?" 

Of course she picks up on his anxiety on the drive back. She doesn't need to be a werewolf to smell it on him because she can see the way he's fidgeting. The way his hands keep moving over his legs and the way he keeps looking around.

It feels _tense_. Even as they make their way back into his house, she keeps on wondering if maybe she should just leave him alone for the night. Because part of her knows she's responsible for him being uncomfortable, she just isn't sure why, exactly.

But then, she did make up her mind about being there for him more. Like she used to be. Before Malia. Before this -- whatever it is that's going on between them. So she'll try for a little while longer. At least have some of her ice cream.

"Peanut butter cup. It has actual actual pieces of Reese's inside." She reaches to unpack the bag with the toppings and pulls three flavors out. "I also got chocolate, caramel and marshmallow toppings." And while she never really eats sugar or carbs this late at night, she's okay with breaking some of her rules today.

He can't help but smile at her response. He knows Reese's are her favorite. It's something he accidentally hit upon a couple years ago when they'd been in the very tentative, beginning stage of their friendship and he'd offered her a package of them at the ice skating rink.

"That's a lot of toppings. You're gonna have a sugar crash." His voice is lighter when he speaks this time, teasing. He on the other hand, rarely ever has a sugar crash thanks to his Adderall. When he does, it's bad.

But he grabs the carton of Chunky Monkey and pours some of the chocolate syrup atop it, dropping into a chair at the table across from her. He takes a bite of the ice cream, watching her for a moment. "Hey Lydia?" 

She waits until he's done with the chocolate topping and reaches for it, carefully pouring it over her ice cream, too. "I'm not having all of them, just chocolate overload. I just wasn't sure which one you'd want," she admits, even if she probably should have guessed he'd pick chocolate, too.

Once he sits down, since he clearly plans on sticking to the kitchen, she pulls up a chair and sits down, too. She's already planning on asking him how he's been as far as non-college things go -- mostly because she wants to know how he's doing with the Malia stuff -- but then he says her name and she stills.

"Yeah?" She asks quietly, arching her eyebrows at him. Somehow, she knows that whatever he's about to say is something he's been thinking about. There's just an edge to his voice that she can't help but pick up on.

He nods, watching her pour the chocolate syrup and then go still as she waits for him to go on. He takes a breath and lets it out slowly, looking down at this carton of ice cream and stirring in the chocolate syrup as he contemplates how to say what he wants to say.

He opens his mouth to speak a couple of times and then closes it again. "It's -- the thing is --" He begins, then stops again and sighs heavily, leaning back in his seat. "I didn't think I had any shot of getting into Stanford. Like, at all. I mean, I don't even know what made me apply --" Except that wasn't entirely true. He'd applied for two reasons and he doesn't really want to lie. He groans and drops his head into his hands.

"Okay, I do know why I applied. Their criminal justice program is one of the best in the world. And -- I was pretty sure it's where you were going to go there. I mean, I knew from the beginning that you'd get in. I mean, you were a shoe in." 

"It's fine, Stiles." She breathes out, letting her spoon rest against the side of her carton because all of her sudden she has far too many knots in her stomach to even start eating.

She knows where this is going and-- it sounds like she was right about his anxiety coming from her and her expectations. Apparently Stiles still reads her as well as he always has. She wasn't even aware she'd been that transparent about getting her hopes up, but here they are.

"I mean, just the fact that you actually considered going there means a lot to me. But-- I get that it wasn't really a part of your plans. And the last thing I want is for you to feel like you have to be somewhere you don't wanna be because of me." She purses her lips together as she looks at him, her chest tight, and it hurts to be telling him all this because she does want him there. But she knows it's not fair to him.

"You don't owe me anything."

He starts to agree when her words actually catch up to his already rapidly spinning mind and he pauses, blinking a couple of times and then staring at her with slightly wide eyes. "Wait -- you want me to go to Stanford? With you?"

How the hell had he gotten that message so mixed up? He'd been sure that with how weird things had been between them, she'd prefer he go somewhere else for school to avoid the continued awkwardness. Not that they'd necessarily even see that much of each other if they were both going to school there -- it was a huge campus, and they'd be in different programs.

"Okay, no, I -- that's not at all what -- I mean I thought maybe you'd just want it to be a thing you did without necessarily, you know, having ties from Beacon Hills around who weren't Allison?" But by the look on her face it's the exact opposite and now he feels a surge of hope that he can't quite repress. 

" _What_?" Lydia isn't someone who's used to feeling confused. Conflicted, yes, occasionally. Especially around Stiles. But not confused. And that's exactly what she's feeling right now.

"You mean you actually wanna go there?" She asks, her eyes widening a little and the knots in her stomach suddenly feel a lot more fluttery. Because she's also feeling some kind of hope. That same stupid hope she's been feeling since he opened his letter -- no, even before then. Since she found it, because she knew he was getting in.

"Of course I want you to go, Stiles. If you want to." And then there's the hurt that she can't help but feel when he assumes she'd rather be alone there than with him.

"You're still one of my best friends, why would I not want you there?" Is she really too blind to see just how messed up their relationship is? Because even though it's been awkward and even though most of the time they hurt each other -- even if unintentionally -- these days, she'd rather have that than not have him around at all.

He lets out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders as he leans back in his chair. He's more than used to feeling confusion and being conflicted when it comes to Lydia. That's one thing that's never really changed. Just buried, maybe.

"Yeah, of course. I mean it's Stanford. It's one of the best schools in the country and -- I mean you're gonna be there, and you're still one of my best friends, too, it's just things have been so --" He hesitates and then shakes his head. "I just wasn't sure it was something you'd be okay with, I guess. Like maybe you needed some space and time for yourself."

He pauses, then shuts his eyes. _Like Malia_. It never occurred to him that that's where a lot of this uncertainty was coming from. If the one person he'd spent more time around than anyone else in the last year had gotten sick of being around him and taken off for parts unknown with her mother -- who may or may not also be a psychotic killer -- why wouldn't Lydia feel the same way? Except that's hardly a fair comparison. Lydia and Malia are as different as day and night.

"I'm sorry. Everything's just been -- really weird for awhile now." His voice is quieter. "I guess I was just jumping to conclusions." Apparently that's something that doesn't ever change.

With a deep, calming breath, she nods slightly as she takes in his words. She knows it hasn't been all on him and his relationship with Malia. A lot of it has been on her, too. She hated not having his attention, she hated feeling like the fifth wheel when it was him, Malia, Scott and Kira while Allison was in France.

And if she's honest, she really hated watching his interactions with Malia. The way he looked. Like maybe he wasn't happy -- but it just didn't feel right for her to say anything. Surely Scott would have smelled it on his best friend if there was an issue.

"Looks like we both were. Jumping to conclusions, I mean." She sighs deeply and it's a mix of relief and anxiety that she just needs to shake out. "And I know things have been weird but-- maybe we can figure that out, too. Maybe a lot of it is just us communicating badly," she whispers, her tone becoming a little more hopeful as she adds a soft smile.

"I'd be really happy to have you at Stanford with me."

Relief sweeps over him at her words, because they usher any remaining doubts he had right out of the darker corners of his mind. A faint smile touches his mouth and he nods. He knows there's distance between them that's vaguely reminiscent of a time before they ever even talked regularly. But only vaguely. Because they'd never quit talking since they'd become friends.

Things were just...a bit strained. The last couple days is the most one-on-one time he'd had with Lydia since he was possessed by the Nogitsune. And maybe if they just keep spending more time together that strain will eventually just fade into oblivion. He hopes so, at least.

"Yeah, I guess so. And -- it's probably mostly me," he tells her with a returned smile, heart skipping a beat at her words.

"Me too, Lyds." 

"Okay, you gotta stop blaming yourself for everything." She knows exactly what was going on in her head, and she knows just how much she herself was freaking out about this, too. So she doesn't want him to think it was all on him.

And now that it's all out in the open -- or most of it out in the open -- it does feel silly. But she does feel tremendously relieved. And although he looks as relieved as she feels, she also wants to tell him just a little bit more about what's been going on in her mind.

"I was actually freaking out about going alone and-- if some kind of banshee thing happening, Allison would still be almost an hour away. So-- this is really good," she admits, leaning back against her chair too and picking up her spoon once again, but keeping her eyes on him. 

He smirks at that, because he's pretty sure Scott's been saying the same exact thing to him since they were kids. Maybe one day he'll figure out how to do that, but today probably won't be the day. Still, he's a lot more relaxed now that he's confident they're really on the same page again.

"Oh." His voice is more hushed this time and he leans forward in his chair, gazing at her intently. "Yeah that's -- that wouldn't be good. But I won't let that happen. I mean, if it does happen, I'll be with you and we'll figure it out together." Like old times. "We'll keep each other safe." As safe as two virtually defenseless humans can be anyway. 

Lydia leans forward too, holding his gaze back and smiling still. Of course he's reassuring her already. She knows she can be honest with Stiles about these things because he would never judge her or think she's being paranoid or crazy. He believes her and he believes in her.

"Yeah." Virtually defenseless humans that have managed to keep themselves pretty safe during all these years. And she really doesn't think Stanford is going to have as many supernatural issues as the literal beacon in Beacon Hills does.

"We'll be okay." And while this is something she has repeated several times during the past few weeks, this time, she has a really good feeling that it's the true.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder that this is from an online RP that four of us are writing, where the core four is college-bound. We're RPing anyway, if you guys wanna keep reading it, let us know and we'll keep posting it! :)


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